


at the right hand of the father

by glitterandglass



Category: Great Pretender (Anime)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Laurent Thierry is a Good Leader, Light Angst, Ramen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26373388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterandglass/pseuds/glitterandglass
Summary: It was as if when he walked hand-in-hand with them he could see the whole world unfurl beneath their feet—an open canvas, an opportunity ripe for the taking.Between his parents, Makoto felt unstoppable.And then one day, his father was gone.
Relationships: Edamura Makoto & Laurent Thierry
Comments: 6
Kudos: 150





	at the right hand of the father

**Author's Note:**

> i scribbled this all out in mayyybe an hour. i didn't really go back to proofread much beyond one or two read-throughs, so it's probably very messy. in case anyone is wondering what my first draft writing looks like, this is it. i just fell in love with this show and now i can't go back. 
> 
> to anyone possibly waiting on an update for my other stories, i'm sorry!! i promise i haven't abandoned them. inspiration struck me with this work but that doesn't mean i'm forgetting about my other babies.
> 
> also! i havent slept in almost 75 hours! so if i wake up tomorrow and realize this whole thing is in pig latin or something equally as ridiculous but still plausible i will delete it! good luck future me, i hope by the time you read this you'll have gotten some serious naptime.

Makoto always walked between his parents. His mother on the left, his father on the right, swinging their hands beside him in his tiny grip as he skipped along. Sometimes his father would tell stories about his job, or his mother would describe the newest stray cat she’d spotted in the neighborhood, but Makoto usually dominated most of the conversation, chattering endlessly about his day so that his parents could be in the loop with the latest playground gossip. 

It was important to him that they felt like they were a part of his life, the same way they happily involved him in what then felt like grown-up conversations about morals, people, and trying to be one of the good ones. They were larger than life, his parents, and though Makoto was small, he loved feeling as though he could stand beside them. It was as if when he walked hand-in-hand with them he could see the whole world unfurl beneath their feet—an open canvas, an opportunity ripe for the taking. 

Between his parents, Makoto felt unstoppable. 

And then one day, his father was gone.

His right side was open, vulnerable, cold. Even though he was grown up by then, he still liked to hold his mother’s hand when they walked, but it felt off-balance without his father on the other side. It was as if they were Icarus, and his father had flown too close to the sun. Makoto’s right wing was crippled and stripped away, leaving him with only a mangled lump of wax and feathers. 

Now, when he walked beside his mother, that bright open expanse of opportunity morphed into a terrifying abyss. What had once felt like endless chances to shine now felt like endless paths to failure. 

And his right side was always cold. 

“Edamame!” Laurent’s voice, sharp as ice yet smooth as honey, cut through the noise of Makoto’s thoughts with abrupt clarity. “Is your arm okay?”

Makoto blinked. 

“Huh?” he asked dumbly. His arm…? 

“You’re holding it like it’s hurt or something. Did you trip down the stairs again?” Laurent drawled, pointing from the doorway of their hotel room to Makoto’s right arm. Unconsciously, Makoto must’ve been cradling it, the memory of that chill from his childhood causing him to hold himself for comfort. 

As though it were on fire, Makoto ripped his left hand away from the other arm, face ablaze with an embarrassed flush. _I can’t believe he saw that!_ he screamed internally, appalled that those old wounds had gotten the best of him. Then, realizing how incriminating the motion must’ve looked, he attempted to smooth it out by patting down his hair with the hand he’d snatched back. 

From the doorway, Laurent stifled a laugh, and Makoto turned toward him with his fiercest glare.

“I’m fine!” Makoto snapped. “Just… just a little cold.” The words felt hollow in his throat. Why now? Why did his brain have to spring him with all this bitter, unnecessary baggage _now_?! 

They had just returned to the hotel after closing up a successful con involving an auction ring of endangered animals smuggled from around the world and were preparing to return home, briefcases filled to the brim with cash in tow. The air was electric. After watching so many gorgeous animals be tortured under the extreme conditions of the people they had just taken down for _weeks_ of agonizing work, setting them free had adjusted the team atmosphere in a way utterly unique to this con. Makoto had never experienced joy so bright as he did in the moments following that grand reveal. 

But suddenly, it all came crashing down on him. He couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment to explain it, but his thoughts all of a sudden decided to turn back to those childhood memories of feeling cold, frightened, and off-balance. The mood change was quick and unforgiving, leaving Makoto struggling for any semblance of comfort when he knew he wouldn’t find any. 

Nothing could erase the darkness of his past. That bitter betrayal at the hands of his father would always be with him, as would the all-consuming grief from losing his mother. With nowhere to put those feelings, he was forever forced to distract himself from them or be swallowed whole. 

Tonight, he was at its mercy. 

“Ahh, you’re doing it again,” Laurent scolded, clicking his tongue as he approached Makoto’s perch at the end of the hotel bed. Again, Makoto dropped his hand, clenching it into a frustrated fist. “If you’re cold, buy yourself a new jacket. You’ve got the money to pay for the highest quality furs!” Laurent gave Makoto a light teasing punch on the shoulder he’d been rubbing, and Makoto scowled. 

“I think real fur clothing should be out of the question for now,” Makoto sighed, remembering the sparkling pelt of one snowy white polar bear they’d helped rescue. The auctioneers had praised it for its skin, claiming that whoever bought it would be hard-pressed to find a softer fur rug, or perhaps a stylish coat. The memory of the poor animal’s mournful gaze still set Makoto’s blood boiling. 

“Too right,” Laurent laughed lightly. “Well, Abby is getting ordering ramen for dinner tonight, apparently there’s a super high-class place just around the corner from here who’s willing to cater last-minute.”

“I’m sure the bribes from our most recent score has nothing to do with that,” Makoto teased, causing the corner of Laurent’s mouth to lift into a pleased smirk. 

“Of course not,” Laurent rebuffed, waving his hand dismissively. “It was my superhuman charm and people skills that convinced them.”

Makoto aimed a swat for Laurent’s head, which the taller man dodged, a self-satisfied grin splitting his face. He caught Makoto’s next attack with his own much larger hand and squeezed playfully around Makoto’s wrist.

“Regardless of the how and why, ramen is on its way, and there’s nothing like hot soup and good company to cure a little chill,” Laurent said, his smile softening as he dropped Makoto’s hand. Makoto looked down at the offending limb, willing his fingers not to tremble. 

Ever since his father left, that side had always felt cold. 

“Maybe you’re right,” Makoto sighed. Then, seeing the way Laurent perked up, immediately regretted his word choice. 

“Of course I am, that’s why I’m the mastermind behind this operation!” Laurent said pleasantly, patting the top of Makoto’s head with a condescending smile. Makoto was reminded of a joke Kudo had told him once in his earlier days of his swindling apprenticeship.

_What do you call a snobbish criminal going down the stairs? A condescending con descending!_

Suddenly Makoto wondered if Laurent had been the reason for that joke’s inception. He fit the description with almost frightening accuracy. 

“Now c’mon, follow your wise and glorious leader. You can kiss the ground I walk on as we go, if you’d like,” Laurent chirped, grabbing Makoto’s hand again and dragging him for the door. 

“You’re so annoying,” Makoto grumbled, though he still followed reluctantly behind. 

“Annoyingly handsome?” Laurent suggested. 

“No, just annoying.” With Laurent facing in the opposite direction, Makoto was able to reach up with his free hand and deliver a sharp flick at Laurent’s ear. 

“Ow!” Laurent hissed, shooting Makoto with an unconvincing pout. Makoto just snickered in response. 

Stepping out into the main room of the suite, Laurent ushered Makoto over to the couch beside Cynthia, who had changed into a comfortable hoodie and sweatpants for the night—vastly different from the glamorous British animal collector she’d played during the job. She gave them a wave but returned her attention quickly to the book in her lap, which was tilted too awkwardly for Makoto to see the title. 

Laurent reached for the TV remote and flipped to some random english romcom about a bounty hunter and his ex-wife. Makoto didn’t pay it much attention, his right arm still prickling with a phantom chill. He kept his hands glued to the couch and tried to distract himself from the feeling, but it was just one of those days, he supposed. When his mind got caught up in opening up old scars, there wasn’t much he or anyone could do to redirect its course. 

“Dinner’s here!” Abby called from the front door, and Makoto turned to see her and a line of delivery men carrying in containers of soup, toppings, and a ridiculous quantity of liquor. The room erupted in noise as they set down the goods at the expansive table beside the wide windows of the hotel, everyone clamoring to dig in to what was sure to be a lively feast of celebration. 

Laurent tugged at Makoto’s sleeve, pulling him over to the table where everyone was already starting to serve themselves wide-rimmed bowls of ramen. 

It smelled good, _really_ good. Makoto’s stomach twinged with an impatient reminder that he hadn’t eaten since the light breakfast that morning, the conclusion of the job having taken up most of his attention until that moment. 

“Do you like pork?” Laurent asked, dishing up two bowls, one for him and the other for Makoto.

“I—I do, but it’s okay, I can serve myself—” Makoto reached for one of the bowls but Laurent swatted his hand away with a click of his tongue.

“And let you hog all the edamame for yourself, little soybean?” Laurent tutted. “I don’t think so! Sit down and let your illustrious leader take care of you.”

Makoto rolled his eyes but did as he was told, deciding it wasn’t worth getting into a petty argument that he was likely going to lose anyways. 

Laurent finished preparing the food, adding a handful of green onions on top with an overzealous flourish before presenting it to Makoto with an easygoing smile. 

“Good work everyone!” Laurent’s words boomed above the chatter, and despite him not having an especially piercing voice, one couldn’t help but stop and listen when he spoke. “Another marvelous win against the corrupt leaders of the world. Enjoy yourselves tonight, you’ve earned it!”

Across the table, resounding cheers broke out against the clatter of dishes and silverware being passed around. A smile fought its way to the surface of Makoto’s face as he looked around at the boisterous scene before him. As much as the guy irritated him, Laurent had made all of this happiness possible. With his sharp wit, he’d devised another scheme to keep his people well-fed and well-paid, and Makoto couldn’t help but admire him for it. 

In fact, thanks to Laurent, Makoto had been able to see the world in a way he’d never before thought possible. He’d flown planes over Singapore, partook in the high-class life of the most elite in Los Angeles, seen world-class paintings in London, rescued hundreds of animals from the vast corners of the globe, and more. Sure, there had been pain and discomfort, but there were also late-night celebrations over ramen and cheesy movies. 

Despite seeing danger fiercer than anything he’d ever faced before during his life in Japan, the world in front of him didn’t feel so hostile anymore. 

“Feeling better?” Laurent asked quietly, nudging at Makoto’s right arm with his elbow. 

He didn’t feel cold anymore.

“Yeah,” Makoto breathed. “Yeah, I am.”

Laurent’s eyes sparkled with his smile. “I’m glad,” he admitted. 

It was as if becoming a part of Laurent’s crew had given Makoto back his wings. He could see the whole world unfurl beneath him again, those shadowy corners he’d been so petrified to find before now shone bright with possibilities. 

Nothing could erase the darkness from his past. There would still be days where Makoto aches with the pain of invisible wounds.

But in that hotel room, with Laurent by his side, Makoto was warm. 


End file.
